The Phantasm Camera Riddle; Chapter Two

II.

Dunfermline Abbey

  

Most of Stuart's contemporaries abandoned the practice of photographing the deceased. Public deemed they belonged to the last century. However, Stuart's opinion was different. He started his vocation after he came home from Africa. War left him fascinated by both death and photography. To him, those two connected made a specially mysterious enchantment which tempted every human. Modern people denied it because it was out of fashion, but Stuart knew that there isn't a single soul in the universe which isn't fascinated by the dead. And there was a greater, morbid artistry behind the photos of the dead which photos of the living lacked.

But at the turn of the century Stuart was forced to expand his work because photographing people who passed away didn't made him enough profit. He accepted living customers for financial reasons, but the dead were still his top priority. This tendency brought some notorious publicity upon him, but he didn't mind it. He earned enough to survive and was happy when someone would discreetly ask him to take a photo of their beloved deceased ones.

The man who was to be photographed while Stuart was thinking this over was so old that his eyes seemed closed even when they weren't. Wrinkles covered his freckled face and thin white hair fell all the way to his knees. But his son, who came all the way from Edinburgh to pay Stuart for his special services, was a rich gentleman and had no shame attached to his wish to have a photo of his dead father. "Wait, I want it to stand straight", he said, moving his father's hat for Stuart knew not which time. "He always wore it like that. He'd read newspapers and smoke his Virginia cigar in the morning. I swear I've never seen him without a hat. We were so shocked to find him lying on the floor, with his hat beside him... Must've come off when he fell..."

Stuart finally removed the protective slide and turned the hourglass. While the sand was sliding down, the bell rang and the gentleman whose mother-in-law Stuart photographed the day before entered. The man took of his hat and gave Stuart a respectful bow. Then he caught a sight of old man on the sofa and his face adopted the expression of abomination.

"I'll call my men to pick him up", old man's son said when the process was finished.

While the body was being carried away, Stuart went to find yesterday's photo. He left all photos which were to be handed to customers in the same drawer. He put each photo in special envelope labelled with date and name of the person written in thick black ink.

Before leaving the studio, the man opened the envelope to take a look at the daguerreotype. "She looks alive", he commented, sucking air through his teeth. "Peculiar, isn't it?"

"That's my job."

The man rewarded his remark with an expression of fearful astonishment. As if he got a sudden urge to leave this place which gave him creeps, he left in a hurry.

"I'll come later today if that's okay", the rich gentleman said from the door.

"Sure", Stuart answered. He always charged in advance. The guy paid before the photo was even taken. After that, as long as Stuart was concerned, he could come pick it up whenever he liked, or, which happened rarely, but wasn't excluded, he could never appear again. This rarest case was to Stuart's best liking because then he could keep the daguerreotype.

While he was making magic in the dark room, Erwing's appearance of the day before came to his mind. Stuart was shaken up by the news more than he showed. He struggled falling asleep and remained distracted when the morning came. His hands were shaking as he was heating up the mercury. He had to take a pause to calm down, but it had to be short so that picture wouldn't vanish.

He kept thinking how it would've been better for everyone if he had died instead of Oliver. His brother was always the one people liked more. Smarter, more handsome and better in building relationships with people. Stuart was not immune to his charms. He adored him when they were kids. Yet later, when authorities called for war volunteers, he signed up without telling anyone in advance. He never admitted his real reasons to anyone beside himself. It was jealousy. Boyish days were long left behind them and the difference between them started to bother him. Oliver had a beautiful and intelligent fiancée, he finished his studies and already found a job. Family and friends praised him, adored him. Going to war would never come to his mind. On the other hand, Stuart was stunted, unattractive, unable to impress girls or earn the respect of his family. He was still in college, but his marks weren't even the shadow of Oliver's success. When Oliver found out that he'd signed up for the army, he was furious. Stuart could never forget how he crashed into his bedroom. It was the first and the last time he yelled at his younger brother...

His fingers hurt. He was holding the copper plate above hot mercury for too long. "Damn!" His hand snatched. The uncompleted photograph was cast away. Stuart kneeled down, swearing and waving his burned hand. He had to light a kerosene lamp to find the missing daguerreotype. It was in the corner. Broken into tinny pieces. Stuart sighed as he gathered parts desperately overthinking what might he do to fix it. Some pieces were so small he didn't manage to find them, so merging the ones he'd found had no point. The photo was destroyed before it had been developed. The photographer placed what he'd found on the desk where faint rays from the petrol lamp lighted them. He took another look at his ruined work before giving up all hope.

His eyes captured a part of picture in one of the puzzles. Reacting quickly, Stuart grabbed the piece and, putting his glasses on, brought it closer to his face. For a short moment he was able to see a black dot surrounded by framed whiteness. An eye, goggled as if the person to whom it belonged was experiencing a terrible shock. Another moment and it was gone. Stuart put the fragment down. Rubbing his neck, he mumbled to himself: "Hell, I'm losing it." Perhaps it was only a matter of time for him to go mad, but Stuart didn't think that time had come. It was the fresh memory of his nephew and the unexpected information which came with him. "Oliver dead", he said it out loud for the first time. Whatever had happened between them, if Stuart had been the first one to die, he'd like Oliver to attend his funeral. They were brothers after all, and Stuart had no grudges against his brother. He was sure Oliver had nothing against him neither. The blade which cut their bond was the grudge Stuart felt towards himself.

"I'll be at your funeral, Oliver", Stuart spoke into air, "but first I have to think of what to say to that rich man. I'll have to give him back his money and apologize for destroying the last memory he'd have ever gotten of his father." He sighed again, mourning the spoiled piece of art on his desk.

♦

Stuart took a stand next to the statue of Abraham Lincoln. A group of people listening to the preacher giving a farewell to Oliver Malcolm was within the scope of his gaze, but not close enough for anyone of them to notice him. Stuart made sure to remain inconspicuous. He didn't announce his arrival in advance. Before heading off, he contacted an amateur photographer in Edinburgh, an acquaintance of his from the school days, whose family owned funeral business, and asked him to find out informations about his brother's send-off. His acquaintance's voice coming from the telephone revealed that he was bothered by this favour, but Stuart preferred owing someone a return service rather that admitting feelings to his family. Wrapped in coat, with his face hidden by a high collar, Stuart observed his familiars as they left flowers next to the coffin, crying and sobbing for their lost member. Compared to the last time he saw them, they were so different, yet their essences were unchanged. The first person he noticed was Carol, Oliver's widow. He remembered the day when Oliver introduced her to him and their parents. They were so proud, Carol was both beautiful and clever. She was a teacher and had a special sense for organization. Stuart was horribly envious of the diamond his brother had found, but of course he never told anyone. Carol was nice to everyone. While Oliver was at work and Stuart had to remain at home after dropping out of college, she would spend all her free time with him. They got along well. Those were the days which preceded his enlistment in the army. The memory of her dressed in beautiful wedding gown still made him smile. Oliver had married her one week before he left Scotland to follow his brother's stupid decisions.

"Uncle!" Erwing was running towards him. Stuart stepped from one leg to the other, contemplating how to avoid meeting him or anyone else. He had no will for explaining where had he been for the last twenty or so years. But his nephew reached him before he came up with a plan. His face was wet with tears, but an honest smile was glowing on his face. "You came after all! I'm so glad! But why haven't you warned us? And why..." He shook his head. "No, it doesn't matter. You must come with me. There is a banquet at our house."

"I can't. I don't want to bother you. I came for my own reasons and now I must leave..."

Erwing took a hold of his hand and squeezed it. "I'm begging you, join us."

His plea was so honest and filled with sadness Stuart was unable to decline. He allowed Erwing to pull him and lead him to their cab. When others noticed him, some raised their eyebrows and shook heads, denying him the right to reunite with the family after he neglected them for years, but others called his name in surprise and offered him their condolences. Still unaware of the position his brother's death gave him, he didn't know how to react, so Erwing had to thank them in his name.

"This is Loreley", Erwing introduced his wife, "and this is our daughter."

"Very glad to meet you at last", Loreley said, shaking his hand in a feminine and genteel way.

"And you know my mother..."

Carol hid her face behind a black veil. She hadn't stopped sobbing since they left the cemetery. "Stuart", she whispered, "my dear Stuart, you wouldn't believe how seeing you makes me happy... I'm just so sorry it's under such sad circumstances..." Her voice broke. She put her hands on her face. Loreley hugged her and whispered consoling words in her ears.

"It's alright, Carol... I'm glad to see you too... And what's your name?", Stuart asked the little girl sitting on Loreley's lap.

Oliver's granddaughter evaluated him with a careful look. "I'm Louise." Black ribbons in her hair slipped down as she tilted her head on one side. "I don't know you."

"This is my uncle, sweetie", Erwing explained. Turning to Stuart, he added: "Not many people will come to our house. Mother couldn't stand the crowd after everything. But you can stay as long as you wish. My father would like that."

The cab trotted away from the Old Calton Burial Ground. He hadn't been in Oliver's house since the wedding. It was a comfortable two-storey house outside the city centre. Quite a number of people had already gathered in front of the gate before their cab arrived. Stuart felt dizzy. What Erwing considered to be a few people was far too many for what Stuart was used to. Erwing helped his mother reach the entry of the house. Guests followed. Stuart was glad to have Loreley by his side. Her presence seemed to protect him from evil stares.

"It hadn't changed at all!", he commented when they entered. The walls were the same deep green colour as they were when Oliver bought the house. Wooden chairs and desk in the dinning room were the same ones he used to play cards at with Carol. Victorian fireplace in the corner of the living room was the one he remembered Oliver bragging about. The only item which was new to him was a big framed painting of Oliver, Carol and Erwing placed on the wall next to stairs. Stuart stopped in front of it. He couldn't separate his eyes from Oliver's painted eyes. Ocean blue. Those eyes searched for his soul on that fatal day on the battle ground. Stuart wanted to prove he was worth something, too, so he was getting ready to shoot a Boer. The soldier was running towards him, rifle aimed at his head. But Stuart was ready. He would've been the first one to fire if Oliver hadn't stopped him. He pushed away Stuart's weapon and fired instead, without targeting, unadvisedly. The Boer fell to the ground, dead. Stuart stared in blank space, not comprehending what had happened. Oliver took him by the shoulders and pulled him on his legs. "I won't let you turn into a killer", he said calmly. "I won't allow the worst sin label you for eternity."

"The artist really captured us, right?", Erwing appeared next to him. He accompanied his mother to her chambers. Carol was tired and had no wish to participate in the banquet. Stuart wasn't sure whether he was relieved because he won't have to face her or sad because he'll miss the only chance to talk to her. "I was only fifteen when my father ordered this. Mum laughed because he wanted a painting instead of a photo. I guess you weren't the only old fashioned member of the family." He put one hand on Stuart's shoulder. "Let's go to the dining room."

As his attention transited from one face to another, Stuart recognized each person sitting at the table. His sister-in-law's fat mother, his brother's friends, Erwing's godfather, cousins who used to visit when he was a kid. Nobody ate nor talked much. The atmosphere was heavy with anxiety. Stuart absorbed every move his neighbours at the table made. After some time, he started calculating how many years had each of them left to live. Erwing and Loreley were, beside their daughter, the youngest couple. Others were the same age or older than his brother had been. His cousin Henry coughed. Sickness? Something fatal? Two, three years until destiny pulls him into oblivion? Then he couldn't help himself but to imagine his cousins and Oliver's companions forever entrapped in a photograph. The last spark of life in them locked by his camera.

"Such a tragedy", someone said on the other side of the table. "Death is always a tragedy."

An eye on the fragment of a broken daguerreotype.

But man's eyes were almost closed when the photo was being taken.

The number of guests was decreasing. Black clouds covered the sky. Storm was coming.

"Uncle Stuart, you must stay overnight", Loreley was convincing him.

"Everyone else is leaving. I don't want to be a burden..."

"Nonsense", Erwing joined his wife. "Others have personal cabs and a place to stay. We won't let you travel all the way to Dunfermline in this weather."

He had no choice but to surrender. Servants prepared a bed for him in one of the guest rooms on the upper floor. He wasn't served by a servant since he left his parents' home. One of the reasons why his mother and father never supported his wish to become a photographer was the fact that he was giving up all the privileges which staying with the family and accepting their conditions would bring him. He could've been rewarded with money and love if he had followed his brother's steps and continued family tradition. But Stuart's choice was a shocking milestone to his family. If not for his mother, he would've been left penniless. She convinced his father to finance Stuart's new residence and photographing equipment. They expected his venture to be a failure and waited for him to come back begging for forgiveness. Through years of hard work Stuart returned every penny he took from his father. He never answered their letters or came back home.

"I see you're well standing", Stuart said to his nephew after all guests had gone. Loreley was putting Louise to sleep. They were in the dining room lighted by a candle on the table. Heavily falling rain produced loud banging noises on the roof. "And Loreley is kind and warm. Louise is pretty. I can imagine Oliver was quite happy with your achievements."

Erwing took a sip of vine. He hadn't drunk while the guests were in the house, but he took the bottle out as soon as they left. "He wasn't approving of Loreley in the beginning. She is a suffragette. We had an argument when I told him I support her, but he got to his senses after meeting her. I'm very happy with my life." His eyes raised. "And you?"

Stuart shrugged. "I'm content. I wish people didn't rush into future as they tend to do. I have no regrets."

Erwing's eyebrows raised. "Truly?"

Stuart twitched. "Well, you know me and your father went to war in the eighties... That was the worst decision I've ever made. It turned me into the person I'm today." He looked in the distance. "Had I not seen what I have seen there, I couldn't possibly had been satisfied with how my life turned out."

"I see", Erwing bowed his head and filled his glass with dark liquid.

When Loreley came downstairs, Stuart excused himself and went to the guest chambers. He hadn't slept outside his home in Dunfermline for decades. As soon as his head was put on cushion, his mind exploded with memories. His brother crushing into his room red in the face, yelling at him. "Have you lost your mind? You'll get yourself killed! Have you considered what would that do to our mother? To me?"

"Nothing can be changed now", Stuart replied. "Even if it was possible, I wouldn't withdraw my application."

"I can't let you go to Africa on your own." Oliver's forehead was covered with sweat drops. He was angry, sad, disappointed, but he kept his calmness and never showed panic. "There's only one thing for me to do. I must go with you."

Two weeks passed and they were deported on a ship. Only three months of war, but enough to change two foolish boys. They grew up more during those months that during years of childhood. And being grown up for Stuart meant turning into a confused wanderer. "We'll go home soon", Oliver promised him every night before they'd go to sleep in the tents. "The war won't last long. Okay, Stu? We'll be fine..." He supposed Stuart's silence meant fear, but Stuart wasn't scared. He was distancing from his brother. It was the beginning of his metamorphose which led to them becoming complete strangers.

An image out of place between the scenes of the past emerged in his restless dreams. A photo of a group of soldiers he saw years after coming back to Scotland. He had met one of them during their fighting in the south of Africa, but hadn't heard from him ever since. But when Stuart looked at the photograph, he knew instantly the man had died in the meantime. Very likely the same day the photo was taken, this military comrade of his fell dead on the battleground. From that day onward, Stuart was able to recognise death in the eyes of the photographed people.

Frightened eye.

Sun rays breaking through the window woke him up. He sat in the bed, mixed dreams fresh in his mind. How had series of unrelated events managed to reshape his personality and lead him on the path of life to his current standing point? In his dream memories he considered lost came back to him. He would've prefer them to be left where they belonged – in the days long gone. He got up with a strong intention to leave and never come back. It was the house, he thought, and his brother's funeral. Occasion made him nervous and dug out bad memories.

"Uncle, come and have breakfast with us!"

Stuart already had his coat on. He stepped into the dining room only to say goodbye, but was stricken by Carol's presence. She got up immediately after seeing him. "I'm awfully sorry for not being here yesterday. I just didn't feel like myself. Please, Stuart, sit with us. We have so much to talk about."

He was tempted by her offer, but reason told him to stick to his plan. "I can't. Work calls. I've been bugging you for too long anyway. I must go." Turning to Erwing, he added: "And nothing you might say will stop me."

His nephew recognised serious tone and agreed not to dissuade him further. "Then at least allow me to walk you out." Carol's arm already slipped around his elbow. He waved his nephew's family goodbye. When Loreley yelled him to come visit them soon, he didn't answer. After walking from the doorway to the gateway in silence, his sister – in – law spoke: "Oliver truly missed you. Why have you abandoned him? No, don't answer, I don't want to sound like I'm accusing you, even if I personally consider you did wrong. I wish you'd come back during his life time. But now I'm reassured that you had never forgotten him and that you shall meet him again in heaven."

She got up on her toes to reach his cheek with her lips. The sensation of his skin being touched with such gentle manner overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes in order not to get tempted by her girlish smile and turned. He was a few paces away from her when he looked back. She hadn't moved. "Carol", he said in a quiet voice, but she heard him. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure me and Oliver shall ever meet in heaven. I will most definitely not be allowed to enter God's empire. And, to be completely honest, I'm not sure Oliver's headed that way either." Not waiting for her response, Stuart continued in a hurry toward the city where he could find a cab to drive him back to Dunfermline.

♦

It was fresh and cold Sunday morning. December had brought winter, so the tombstones of the graveyard next to the church were lined with layers of snow. Dunfermline Abbey was filled with people. Stuart stood outside. He woke up early and ready to welcome a client who had called him the day before. It was an emergency call, and one which Stuart was glad to accept on a Sunday, because it was a case of post-mortem photographing. He hadn't had a chance to take a photo of a deceased person ever since he made a mistake with the daguerreotype of an old man before his brother's funeral. He was excited to return to his favourite occupation, but customers hadn't appeared in the agreed time. Stuart waited, but it was obvious that something had stopped them from coming. Since the funeral of the deceased in question was to be held in the noon that day, it was unlikely that they would come at all. Disappointed and angry, Stuart didn't know what to occupy himself with for the rest of the day. Then he took a look at the calendar and realised that exactly one month had passed since he left Erwing's house. He had no doubt Carol made sure that Mass of Remembrance was held in a church in Edinburgh. Although his family was never very religious, and he himself wasn't sure whether he believed in God, Stuart felt obliged to visit some kind of a holy place to honour his brother. Tangled in warm clothes, he walked through the snow to the Abbey and listened to the choir singing from a distance.

He put hands in the pockets of his coat. His fingers curled around a sharp object. He took an envelope out of his pocket. Intrigued, but not surprised by this discovery, Stuart opened the letter. Although he rarely received letters, he constantly misplaced and forgot about those he did receive. He recognised Carol's handwriting before he started reading. His heart started pounding harder. "Calm down", he mumbled to himself. It was an invitation. The date was only two days past, so it was still valid. She wanted him to come to their place on the Christmas day. It would be only her, Erwing, Loreley, Louise, Carol's sister and him. "It would make Louise jolly happy to meet you properly. We told her much about you, but she hadn't had the opportunity to make independent judgment of you. Please, come and spend Christmas with us!"

Stuart kept his eyes on the paper for minutes after he finished reading. Her appeal touched him and a part of him considered taking another trip to Edinburgh. Christmas was in six days, so he had time to prepare and make plans for after Christmas. If the weather doesn't get worse, he wouldn't have to stay overnight, so there was no fear of bad dreams. "And when had you become so superstitious", he accused himself, "evil spirits in the house giving you headache and nightmares, eh? Damn, it must be old age..."

His consideration stopped when he caught sight of a lone figure between the tombstones. A tall woman dressed in a black cape. Stuart rubbed his eyes to convince himself it wasn't an apparition. She seemed like a ghost from a scary story. But the woman was real. She kneeled in front of one grave. Taking out a cloth and a spatula, she cleaned the snow from it. Stuart saw she had a bag beneath her robe. She took out a Christmas rose and left in on the mound in front of the tombstone. The flower was so white its shape was lost on the snowy surface. Something about the whole scene and woman's posture attracted Stuart. He felt he was a witness to something special and private, but this only encouraged him to come closer.

The woman heard his steps. With a sudden move of her head, she gave him a startled look. Stuart was still too far away to represent a threat, but she seemed frightened. He wanted to apologize for intrusion, but she was quicker and was already running away before he managed to say a single word. Stuart took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders. Then he noticed a glint on the ground next to the grave the woman was taking care of. He came closer and found a silver medallion.

"Ma'am!", he shouted. "You dropped something!" But her black figure had disappeared. In the meantime, people started exiting the church. Stuart was at no position to go chasing after the unknown woman.

The ornament was heavy on his palm. It was surely worth a good deal of money, but Stuart wasn't the rapacious kind of person. He would return any kind of lost object to whom it belonged. Touching the edges, he felt a button and pressed it. When medallion opened, he saw two old photos on each side of it. One was of a middle–aged woman, and another of an older man. "Must be her parents", he concluded as his sight lowered to the tombstone. "Jamieson", he read the surname carved next to the spouses' names. He put the medallion in his pocket next to the once again forgotten letter.

Workless days preceding Christmas passed with medallion lying intact in Stuart's pocket. On the evening of Christmas Eve Stuart had enough of hopeless sitting in his armchair, waiting for a rescue customer to bring some joy into his idle routine. He had polished each frame in his collection, wiped dust from every daguerreotype, cleaned his camera and swept every corner of his studio. He had to get away from his safe four walls.

Since Stuart wasn't easily befriended and wasn't one of those who seek to meet new acquaintances whenever going out, he had nobody to hang out with. However, there was a pub nearby where he sometimes peeped in. He rarely stayed in for longer than a few minutes. The company was made out of those who went there after work to postpone coming back to their families, those who had nowhere else to go and often had no money to pay what they ordered and those who hid there from troubles of reality. Stuart didn't belong to any of those groups, but the atmosphere of a full pub filled him with feeling of community. It could heal his loneliness for the time being.

Smoke of cheap cigars stroke him when he entered. As he was coming nearer to the bar, his ears got used to the loud cacophony of voices. He comprehended that a bunch of people, drunk and sober, were singing Christmas carols. Well, he thought, at least it's more homey than my place.

"Aye, Stu, haven't seen ya for too long", the barman shouted. He was a big man with face covered in brown beard, but scalp without a single hair. "Where'd you been, eh?"

"Home, mostly", he answered, but then, driven by unconscious desire for a disclose, added: "My brother died."

"Oh, gee, so sorry to hear that." Barman nodded his head. "Here, this is on the house." He thrust him a glass of whiskey. Stuart sipped the drink into himself and turned from the bar, blinking his eyes as whiskey was running down his throat. In a convex space, sitting alone at a round table, was the woman in black he saw at the graveyard. He instinctively reached into his pocket. The medallion was still there.

"Hey, who's that lady?"

"That? Old man Jamieson's daughter. Ever heard of 'im? I'm surprised, you two had a strange thing in common. Sadly, old lad passed away early this autumn. You know what his job was? He regularly took photos of the crime scenes. Been moving around the country for a long time, but the family had inherited a house here in Dunfermline. Heard the daughter decided to settle down here after her father died." He gave Stuart a curious look. "What's on your mind, Stu? Aren't ya a bit too old for a pretty young woman like her?"

"I found something hers." Without further explanation, he headed towards her. He was careful not to scare her like the first time, but she didn't seem to notice him at all. She acknowledged his presence with a resigned look only after his shadow fell on her. "Excuse me for disturbing you, but I believe this belongs to you." He took out the medallion and put in on the desk. Woman's eyes widened when she recognized the object. "Good evening", he said, ready to return to the bar.

"Wait", she called him back with a strong, yet feminine voice, "would you like to join me?"

There was a half–empty bottle of vine on the desk. He sat opposite of her and accepted the drink she offered him. "Strange to see someone decent like you in here", he spoke just to break the weird silence between them. "I hardly find anyone besides depressed students and drunkards in the Black Cat."

"You speak like you know me", she answered with a curious smile, "besides, I've never seen anyone similar to you around. Who are you anyway?"

"My name is Stuart Malcolm."

She blinked in a confused way. "Wait, I know who you are! I saw your studio. You are a photographer, the one who takes daguerreotypes of dead people!"

"I guess I have a reputation. And you?"

She made a resentful sound with her tongue. "You could say I'm new in town. Name's Regina." Then Regina filled her glass with vine and drank it in one sip. When she spoke again, her voice revealed dizziness from intoxication. "Seen you at the cemetery... You following me?"

"By no means. I just happened to bum into you there and here." He wanted to ask her about her father, but this were not the right circumstances.

Regina stretched her arm as if to get a grip of the empty chair alongside her, but she missed it and almost fell down. Stuart got up to help her, but she rejected help. "I'm fine, fine...", she mumbled, but Stuart thought this was not her first bottle.

"You should go home. Do you want me to accompany you?"

"Haven't got anything better to do on Christmas Eve?"

Just then Carol's letter came to his mind. He wanted to slap himself across the face. How could've he forgotten about it? Perhaps it was still not to late to plan everything... except it was. The snow had covered the roads. There was no way he could find a cab to drive him all the way to Edinburgh in the morning. He imagined Carol waiting for him, Erwing convincing her there's still time for Stuart to come... But he won't come. He felt more sorry for them that himself.

"Sorry", he heard Regina's voice coming through his thoughts, "shouldn't have asked, should I?" Up on her legs now and strangely wrapped in black coat, she staggered towards the exit. Stuart followed her, but there were too many people inside. She got out before he managed to break through the crowd. When he came out in the freezing air, Regina was nowhere to be seen.

With the subject of his interest lost, the noise coming from the pub became unbearable for his sensitive ears. Small snowflakes were falling from the dense mass of clouds. Sooner or later, snow storm was sure to start and it wasn't Stuart's desire to be caught in it.

He stayed at his house until Christmas passed. The storm indeed came and the only sound on the streets was the windy yodelling. Stuart spent holiday alone. The thought of the missed opportunity of dinning with Erwing, Carol and their close ones touched the painful spot whenever it came to his mind, which was often. For the past twenty years Stuart hadn't minded about Christmas season. He considered it a bad time for his business because he had even less customers than usually, but he never regretted spending it separated from the rest of the society. However, this year Carol's letter haunted him and brought back more memories from the forgotten past.

When he was a kid living with his family in a village far up north, they celebrated Christmas because it was a tradition. It didn't mean much to his parents, but he and his brother, being kids, adored it. He remembered how old baker Irwing would give them each a special Christmas pastry, his unique recipe. He gifted all children from the village in the same way. Every year, Stuart and Oliver discussed what the ingredients of the pastry might be with other children. He never considered how much work Irwing must have been putting into making those sweets, only to give them for free. Like a real Father Christmas. Now that he thought of him, he did look alike Father Christmas on the modern greeting cards. Other things from Christmases long gone came to his mind; Yule tree with candy and candles, chestnuts his father gathered in the woods, kids skating on the frozen lake. Oliver had shared his hiding spot with him when Stuart was ten years old. Safe between the bushes, they observed skating girls as they made pirouettes, circled around each other and smiled. Stuart was quite sure they actually knew they were being spied, but didn't mind. Years later, upon engaging with Oliver, Carol came to spend some time after Christmas with them. She was a brilliant skater. Stuart adored watching her and Oliver dance on the ice.

He spent Christmas besieged by sentiments which hurt him but also awoke a strange joyfulness in him. He would sit by the fireplace and a memory would suddenly come to his mind. He would smile or even laugh. If things had turned out differently, the line of good memories might not had been broken after the war, but would continue until his final days.

His sentimental mood was broken when the bell above his door rang on the morning of 27th.. "Come in", Stuart shouted, assuming his professional stand, hoping a customer had arrived with a requirement to remand him to real life.

Wearing her long black coat with a hood over her head, Regina turned her face to him. "Good morning", she spoke. Startled by unexpected visitor, Stuart was only able to answer her with a nod. "I hope I'm not intruding during work..." Her eyes fell onto old camera in front of the sofa. "Wow", she didn't try to sustain indifference, "you really have it! God, it's beautiful!"

Had anyone ever expressed such fascination for his equipment or work? Of course he was more than pleased because someone recognized the beauty he valued so much, but people usually considered his practice old–fashioned and repulsive. How should one answer to a compliment?

"You don't see ones like these privately owned any more. People got rid of them as soon as cheaper, easier ways of photographing were invented. But I guess you're different." Her look was focused on him now, which made him even more anxious. "My father was the same... Oh, sorry, I'm talking nonsense again, and I just came to apologize for the nonsense you must've heard from me in the Black Cat." She swirled her finger next to her head. "Alcohol hit me hard."

"I'm glad you came home safely", he finally spoke, "you didn't seem capable of moving around outside on your own. I was worried someone would hurt you or you'd get lost."

"Well, I'm tougher than I look."

"You look tough enough to me."

Under layers of scarf and hoodie, she blushed. "Gee, thanks. Inherited it from my dad. Oh, and thanks a lot for the medallion! It was terribly feckless of me to lose it."

"Were you drinking on the Christmas Eve to conceal your sadness?"

The expression on her face made him think he went to far, but she waved with her glowed hand and answered quickly. "Not really, it was something else. I'm not a drunkard, just to make that clear."

"Never thought you were."

"Good." She looked through the window. The ground of the streets was covered with snow, but it stopped falling on Christmas night. Traffic was rare since the snow was still not cleaned from the rows and people preferred staying inside, beside the fireplace. "I was hoping you wouldn't be too busy. May I suggest we take a walk together? I know it's cold and we just met, but the air is fresh and I want to remedy the impression I left on you in the pub. I wasn't in the best of moods back then." Her smile was like cat's, subtle smile of one who's aware she'll get what she came for.

"Don't you have anything better to do than hang out with an old rag like me?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "You think I would've been in the pub on Christmas Eve if I had important things to occupy myself with? I'm a spontaneous soul with a refined taste for society. Believe it or not, but I find your personality worth my attention, at least for a while." She laughed. "I'm giving you a rare opportunity to impress me. Earn my respect." Then she lowered her head and whispered: "Of course, that's just nonsense I'm saying to myself. The fact is I'm lonely and you were alone on Christmas Eve, too, so I gather you don't have a wide range of acquaintances neither. Besides, we both like old photographs, so if our walk turns out a failure, we can talk about daguerreotypes and separate in peace."

Stuart liked the idea. Regina had something in herself which caused him to admire her regardless of her interest for his work. If he had found a girl like her thirty years ago, he would've done everything to make her his life companion.

Regina rubbed her hands against each other when they existed the studio. The temperature dropped below zero degrees, but Stuart felt strangely warm walking next to the pretty and intelligent young woman. He felt like a young man he used to want to be.

"I guess I'll be the one to ask the burning question we've both had on our minds since Christmas Eve", Regina said, "what the hell were you doing there on such a day? No holiday plans?"

"I actually had some this year, but I failed in completing them. Haven't been a family guy for quite some time. And you?"

"I have nobody", she sounded melancholic, "I used to spend every holiday, heck, every day with my dad, but..." A sigh. "That's over. Forever." A crystal clear tear appeared in her eye, but she quickly removed it. "Strange how you face death every day, but when it knocks on your door, it surprises you anyway."

"I know exactly what you mean."

They entered Pittencrieff Park which was recently given to the community my mister Andrew Carnegie through the new main entrance. A few people moved around, cuddled in coats and scarfs, some sending them sharp looks of evaluation. "I don't know anyone from Dunfermline except an old woman who owns a store and a barman or two. Me and my father always moved from one place to another quickly. I have no friends to speak of at all!"

"Neither do I and I haven't moved for twenty years." He tried a smile, but the painful truth in his words disabled his fake humour. "You seriously consider continuing his work on your own?"

"Our work", she corrected him, "we worked together. My father used to be a police inspector in Edinburgh, you know? Great Roland Jamieson. But I don't remember him in uniform, he gave his police job up when my mother died in 1885.. He mourned her for more than a year. His therapist proposed a hobby to occupy him. I don't know how he came to like photographing. I spent most of my time with nanny or tutors. When I was fourteen, he discharged them and appropriated me for himself. He talked his old colleagues into giving him a chance as a crime spot photographer. He was very good at it. While he was still being tested, my interest for photos was deepening. I became his assistant, then his co-worker in the shadow. At the age of seventeen I started following him to the scene of crimes. Sometimes murder, sometimes theft."

"He must've been good in his work."

She turned to face him. "He was the best."

The tension relieved when the smell of roasted chestnuts attracted Regina's attention. Hoping like a little girl, she approached the seller and asked for two portions. Stuart bit his tongue. As a male companion, he should've paid for them, but he was broke. However, Regina took out a little bag filled with coins and gave the man more than he asked. Stuart couldn't help but ask her where she got all that money from.

"Inherited", she sighed, smelling the nuts and felling their warmth on her face,, "father left me all he owned. Money, equipment, estate. One of the biggest houses in the suburbs of Dunfermline is now mine. I think I'll sell it and buy something smaller. Some long dead ancestor of mine built it when queen Victoria was still a virgin."

"Why? Isn't it family inheritance?"

"Means nothing. It's too big and not appropriate for one person. The only positive side is that it has a huge attic where I can store all my father's books and equipment." She finished chewing the last chestnut from her bag and looked in the distance. "I'm afraid of boredom. It's my biggest fear after death. Nobody wants to employ a woman to take photos of crime scenes and that's all I know how to do."

"Adapt. Take photos of something else."

She shook her head. "It's not the same. I could't take a fine photo of a living, breathing being. A layman wouldn't understand, but you must. It's special when you must take care of every step and the perspective. I know exactly what kind of photos the police needs, what kind the newspapers want to buy... But I know nothing about portraits or family photos."

He nodded, undertanding her point.

As the dark was slowly falling, they walked back to his studio. Another day without an earned penny, but he didn't regret this one. He felt sadness squeezing his heart as Regina was leaving his doorstep. He was afraid of never seeing her again. They lived in the same town now, but she might sell her house tomorrow and leave the day after without saying goodbye. They were barely familiars, not to speak of friendship. He was hungry, but had nothing except of an old, hardy chewable bread. He dipped it into water to make it softer. While eating tasteless meal, an idea shaped in his mind. Regina wanted to continue photographing, but nobody would employ her. The two of them got along. Maybe she'd want to work for him. He couldn't pay her well, but she might not mind since she was more than financially stable. She might accept his offer just because she'd enjoy the job! He decided to propose this to her as soon as possible and he knew where to look for her.

♦

Stuart eagerly waited as two men positioned an old woman on the sofa. Wrinkled, thin and grim, she resembled dozens of other deceased women he had photographed. Every few seconds, he'd take a look at his watch. He burned with anticipation to finish the procedure, which was a rarity because Stuart considered every opportunity to do his real job a great luck. He had a good reason. Ever since their walk, Stuart went each day to look for Regina at the graveyard, but he hadn't stumbled upon her yet. Every day, he choose the same time for this endeavour, the hour at which he had first seen her. But a customer came to his studio fifteen minutes before he was due to leave. It was his first customer since before Christmas and declining the job wasn't an option.

"Like that", young woman yelped. She constantly wiped her face with a handkerchief, mourning her dead aunt. Her father stood beside her, lost in his thoughts, no doubt haunted by memories which he shared with the deceased person. "Please, put her hands in her lap. If only she could smile! She always smiled..."

Hands settled as she demanded, scenery was ready for photographing. Stuart removed the protective slide and turned the hourglass. Old woman's stare was directed straight forward. Usual excitement overwhelmed Stuart. What a marvellous photo this shall be! The woman looking so elegant, her blue eyes shall conquer the photo and their depth shall shock anyone who dares take a glance of her post–mortem representation. He couldn't help himself not to take a look on the other side of the camera. The picture was turned upside–down, but it was obvious the pose of the subject was perfect. She was the centre of the picture, and as such reigned space like a dire queen with death kneeling beside her.

"Beautiful", Stuart whispered. The time run out. He covered the lens and told his customers the daguerreotype shall be ready in two hours.

Although in a hurry, Stuart was careful not to make another mistake in the dark room. Waiting for the photograph to develop, he felt like a God designing a magnificent creature. Again, human being shall be put in the ground, but he will hold a piece of her in his hands, her final signature, her soul captured on a single plate.

He left the developing daguerreotype in the darkness, protected by a transparent glass plate on his working desk, and rushed outside before buttoning up his coat. Running down the street, he prayed to God for Regina to be at her father's grave. The possibility she had already left the city bothered him more every day.

The congregation was exiting the abbey. Graveyard was empty. Stuart sighted in disappointment. If she had been there, she left before he arrived. He was prepared to leave when he caught a sight of a familiar hooded figure coming out of the church. Regina moved along with the crowd, bowed head and silent. Cheered up, Stuart refrained from calling out to her and instead waited for people to disperse. As he expected, Regina turned towards graveyard. He followed her.

"Oh, Mister Malcolm!" Her lips turned upwards when he approached her. "Are you following me? Should I be concerned?"

"I admit I've been trying to meet with you, but there's no reason for alarm. Ever since our walk, I wanted to suggest something to you..." Now that he finally had an opportunity, his tongue got tied. "I assume you haven't solved your business problem? Or sold your house?"

"I haven't even put it on the market. I've been wasting my time doing nothing in particular. Nothing seems to make sense now that I'm all alone."

"Well, then, maybe... I thought you might consider a suggestion... Would you work for me?"

She gave him a strange look. "I'm not willing to work for anyone." His hopes were quickly dashed, but Regina wasn't over. "I would only consider partnership, but working as someone's subordinate is out of the question."

"Well, I expressed myself incorrectly! Of course we'd be equals..."

Amused by his eagerness, Regina laughed. "Well, that's a relief! Honestly, I'm desperate to find some kind of occupation. I don't mean to interfere in your plans, but your offer truly interests me. I haven't got to see your working space from real close. Would you show it to me right now?"

Stuart nodded, more than happy by her response. Then he suddenly got serious. "I must warn you my income is quite low. Payment..."

She waved his words away with her hand. "Never mind that. Let's go!"

On their way, they talked about what chores would Regina engage herself in. She was well educated about photographing, but had no experience with daguerreotypes. She knew a lot about cameras and could clean the studio. She proposed bringing her rich equipment to Stuart's place. They could widen the business, put an advertisement in the paper and take photos outside of the studio. Stuart didn't really like the idea, but he liked her smile when she suggested it, so he nodded in order to keep her happy.

"Wow", Regina sighed taking off her cloak as they entered the studio. "It's kind of empty. Just your camera, sofa and the stand. Haven't noticed it before. Not a single flower, just a couple of old photos..."

"I have a private collection of daguerreotypes downstairs", he tried to impress her. "I find it best suitable for the purpose without unnecessary decorations. People taking photos of their loved deceased ones do not want other objects in the photo."

"Whatever you say." She studied his camera. "You can't move this thing around at all,. It's too big and complex. I own a very nice and portable American camera from 1890s. All it takes to take a photo is squeeze an air-bulb. The light flashes, and a photo is taken! I even have one of those new Kodak thingies. My father bought it only last year. It's so simple it makes you wonder do we even need special people to photograph us." She smiled at him. "Of course, I'd never consider your craft endangered. There's no work like professional's."

He took her downstairs to show her his small apartment. He slept in small bedroom, had a small kitchen separated from the living room by an open passage and a bathroom with a rusty toilet and a bathtub. "No radio", she mocked him, "you really are terribly old-fashioned!"

"It's not much", he admitted unwillingly, "but enough for me."

She changed her tone. "Of course. Honestly, I prefer this to my big house. It's comfortable enough to feel like a home, whereas my place reminds me of a huge circus."

His pride arose when he showed her into the dark room. The daguerreotype he left to develop was completed, but he paid it no attention now that he had a living piece of art to observe. She turned around in wonder. Rotation of the hem of her dress dazzled him. He'd have liked to take a photo of her in that position, if only he could caught her in motion without photo turning out blurred.

"Did you hear that?", she asked. "It was the bell. Someone's at the door."

Stuart took the fresh daguerreotype. Regina waited in the living room, observing pieces of his collection he took out for her to look at, while he hurried up to give his customers what they came for. Young woman seemed more sedated and the deceased's husband speech had returned. Stuart asked them to wait a minute for the picture to assume its final state while being exposed to the light. He put it in a nice mahogany frame and handed it to the woman. She thanked him and sighed as she took a first look at the photo of her dear aunt, the only view of her she'll ever be able to enjoy after today's funeral.

"Wait", she seemed displeased, "something's wrong. You've made a mistake."

Stuart was confused. "What's wrong?" It was the only photo in the dark room, he couldn't have mistook it for another.

The man bent to take a look over his niece's shoulder. His eyes widened in perplexity. "Most unusual... I'm sure my wife's hands were in her lap."

"They were", Stuart confirmed, though he wasn't sure why they mentioned it.

"Well, something went wrong", woman was upset. She showed him the photo. Stuart put his glasses on and brought daguerreotype closer to himself. The woman in the photo held each of her arms beside her. It was exceptionally strange because it seemed as if she was pushing the couch with her hands. Her palms were steady on the surface and what looked like dents in the couch caused by her pressing were visible beneath them.

"I have no explanation", he said, "I swear her hands were in her lap when the photo was being taken. I even took a look through the lens and it was as you demanded."

"It's not his fault, darling", the man reasoned, "it's still our dear aunt. Look, she's smiling after all!"

This was another curious thing; woman really had an expression of joy on her face. This brought Stuart's confusion to a new level. The dead never smiled!

"Thank you for your service", the man said taking his niece by one arm and putting the photo in his pocket. "The boys probably positioned her hands in a flexible way and they separated in the wrong moment..."

Stuart nodded, but didn't believe in this explanation. The picture would've turned out blurry if such a mistake was made. Regina came upstairs, so the couple wished them both good day and left. The woman was far from happy, but luckily didn't persist in her disappointment in Regina's presence.

"Satisfied customers, eh?", she questioned. "How many of those do you get nowadays?"

"Not half enough."

"We'll change that in no time. I accept your offer if it still stands."

Stuart forgot the recent incident in one flash. She took off her glove to shake his hand. Her skin was not as soft as he expected, but it was still a hand of a young maiden. His mind was already busy producing images of the two of them working together, having fun, admiring daguerreotypes. He wasn't touched by such happiness for a long while.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Submitted; 10th December 2022

Copyright 2022 Anakronizam aka Arijana Grginčić. All rights reserved.